Epoch
by skyisthelimit
Summary: Post EM. On his thirtieth birthday, Numair feels tired and overworked. As if he needed more reasons to feel old. After finding solace in his friends, though, Numair makes an important, inspiring realization. Getting drunk at the Dove may have helped too.


**A/N: Hi all! This is a little-long one shot, in honor of the month January. Why January? Because that's my birthday month, sillies.**

**Okay, I lied. Not about my birthday, but this really wasn't in honor of January. It just ended up being finished in January. **

**I had this idea in my head for a while - Numair's 30th birthday. At first, I thought it was going to be a funny, humorous fic, but then I sat down to write it, and it just didn't end up being like that. It went in a completely different direction. There is still some funny stuff in here, but most of it is, I warn you, emotional, and somewhat angsty. Just a little though. **

**It's Post EM and Post-Revelation (Meaning Numair's already realized he loves Daine). **

**Anyway, so let me know what you think!**

**P.S. This isn't edited or proofread yet, so please forgive any typos.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I am not Tamora Pierce.**

* * *

_Epoch: A period of time distinguished by distinctive and significant events_

* * *

Numair stared forlornly in the mirror, rubbing the light scruff that had appeared in his sleep. He truly looked worse for wear. His eyes were sunken and tired, his cheeks malnourished and slightly hollow. His hair, though clean after last night's bath, had lost its sheen and hung lankly on his shoulders. Numair hardly recognized himself anymore.

Ever since Midwinter, when the barriers disappeared, Immortals had crossed over the realms by the horde. But that wasn't the trouble – after three years full of encounters with hostile Immortals, fending them off now was no great difficulty. Even if the number of killer centaurs, spidrens, Stormwings, and other malevolent beasts in Tortall had increased, that in itself was no real threat. Those kinds of Immortals were competitive, temperamental, and violent - it was hard for a large number of them to form any stable alliance with one another. And as long as their groups were relatively small, Tortall could deal with them easily.

And so it did. Until a week ago. Until the now Stormwing King Ozorne suddenly appeared outside the walls of Corus, with hundreds of Immortals, including over two hundred Stormwings, in the air behind him.

Closing his eyes, Numair shifted his hand to cover his entire face. Ever since then, Numair and the other mages had been working to fight off the immortals, exhausting their gifts completely. Knights and soldiers were outside or on the wall, physically combating the beasts. All civilians in the city had been brought to castles. Volunteers had fought outside as well, or had helped in the healing barracks.

For the rest of that day, they had fared well. With Numair, Alanna, Daine, Tkaa (who had come to the capital as soon as the barriers had fallen), and other powerful people, Corus was able to hold its own against the surprise attack. But then, the next day, a small army of soldiers had also appeared outside the city, with devices to scale the high walls, and a substantial pool of people with the Gift. The fighting thus had elevated to a new level, and the Tortallans began to suffer more and more casualties.

Finally, though, after a week, Ozorne, who had never entered the fight himself, instead deigning to watch with a cruel eye from a tall tree in the Royal forest, sent out a sharp bolt of gold-trimmed red fire – Stormwing magic –, turned around, and flew away. The surviving Immortals and soldiers had followed.

That was yesterday morning. The capital had echoed with a short cry of relief, before work resumed again. Clean up and burial preparations had to be done, the healers still had plenty of work to do, and Tortall's rulers were left to somberly wonder what this meant for the future.

After being trapped in a meeting with the king, queen, and other officials of Tortall for the better part of the evening, Numair was finally allowed to bathe and collapse on to his bed, where he would sleep for the next twelve hours.

Now, still in front of the mirror, with his mind rested enough to think coherently for the first time in a week, though his body was still exhausted, Numair couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen from here on out. He didn't know how much more he could handle. There had to be a limit to the shocks he could take. From his arrest in Carthak to where he was now, Numair believed that he had been through enough hardships to deserve a small break, at the least. Ironically, when he was a boy, a fairly normal child in Tyra, he would long for excitement and adventure, like any other naïve, eager boy. But now, just for this moment, he longed for boredom.

He longed for a normal life. No Immortals, no life-or-death battles, no midnight travels in the cold, no workings gone awry. He longed to be an average, un-Gifted man.

But he knew he wouldn't trade the life he had, the friends he had, for the world, regardless of the former Emperor Ozorne at his back.

Ozorne.

Numair had thought Ozorne was dead. He had thought that the last reminder of his painful past was gone. He should have known better.

Numair sighed. Thinking about these things made his stomach heavy, and suddenly the bed from which he had gotten up from not ten minutes ago looked very, very inviting.

But before Numair could seriously ponder getting back under the soft covers and sleeping the rest of the day away, there was a soft knock at the door. He considered avoiding answering it, but then a voice he would recognize anywhere came through.

"Numair? Are you awake?"

_Daine_.

And suddenly, just had thoughts of Ozorne made his stomach plummet, the mere mention of Daine made it soar, as if it was filled with nervous butterflies. His heart felt light, and his lips twitched to the smile that would always appear when around her.

Such was her effect on him since Midwinter. Since the barriers fell. Since he realized he was in love with her.

He remembered the night clearly, not just because of the significant magical event. Never had he felt such a thrill, such a rush. He was in _love_ with her, and the feeling was wonderful, yet terrible.

Wonderful because it filled his heart so completely, filling a void Numair never knew was there. Wonderful because he felt _full_, alive, as if his life before he Daine had been inconsequential and insignificant. Wonderful because now all he knew was Daine. All he saw was her expressive and beautiful blue-grey eyes. All he heard was her pleasant and often teasing voice. All he felt was the few times he was fortunate enough to caress her soft skin and hair. His love was wonderful because just as the earth revolved around the sun, Numair revolved around Daine.

But it was also terrible. Terrible because he was her teacher, expected to be a mentor and someone she could trust entirely. Terrible because he was over a decade older than her. Terrible because she would never see him as anything more than an old man. Terrible because he wasn't supposed to love her. Terrible because he couldn't stop.

"Numair?" Daine's voice pulled him out of his reverie, and Numair realized he had yet to answer her.

"I'm awake, Daine. Come in," he called, his voice slightly hoarse with sleep.

The door creaked open and a sixteen year-old young lady slipped through.

Numair, though elated to see her, frowned when he saw her appearance. It wasn't so different from her own. Her cheeks were hollow, her beautiful blue-grey eyes were tired, and she was thinner than before.

"Good morning," she said. She gave him a tired smile before sitting on the edge of his bed. Numair joined her there, his face filled with concern.

"Good morning. Have you had breakfast yet?" Numair replied.

"Not yet," Daine answered. Numair frowned.

"Magelet, you need to eat more," Numair said gently.

She brushed off his concerns. "Don't worry, Numair. I will after we get things organized."

"Organized? What do you mean?"

She sighed, looking even more tired than before. "The king got some kind of document this morning. It looked important. He wants to meet with us as soon as you get ready."

Numair sighed. "Must I go?" he said half seriously.

Daine lightly shoved him. "We're all just as tired as you, sir mage. Besides, you _are_ on the king's private council. What did you expect?"

"A luxurious, lazy life?" Numair said hopefully.

"When you find that, let me know. I would love to see," Daine teased. "Come on, Numair, get ready, and I'll meet you in his study. Everyone else will be there too. Even the baron is here – he arrived last night."

"Just in time to miss the fun?" Numair said sarcastically.

Daine's face fell slightly. "I think, Numair, the 'fun' has just begun."

Numair let out another sigh and said gravely, "I think you're right, magelet." They both fell silent, pondering the trials they would no doubt have to face from here on. But Numair, concerned that more stress and anxiety would cause Daine to wither away – to Numair's eyes, she was _that_ thin – said lightly, "But you know, I really think that I'm getting to old for all this fun."

Daine cracked a smile. "Nonsense. You're still a boy at heart and you know it. A naïve, forgetful, _persistent _player of a boy. Oh, and speaking of—" Daine turned to kiss his cheek "Happy birthday, Numair."

Numair looked at her startled, his cheek tingling pleasantly from the feeling of her lips on his skin. He did his best to quell the excitement that was growing in his stomach, but the warm area on his cheek refused to go away.

In an attempt to distract himself, he said matter-of-factly, "Ah, you know, I'd forgotten all about that." He really had. With all the chaos that had been taking place the past week, the actual date had flown over his head. He had been so busy working and worrying that he had no time to ponder that he was turning a year older today…_Oh, Mithros, _Numair cursed silently.

Daine, as if reading his mind, grinned wickedly. "You sure you forgot? Or are you just trying to avoid the fact that you're thirty now? If that's the case, I'd give up if I were you. I'm pretty sure George won't let you live this day down. But if you really _have_ forgotten, well, I do believe we have our first sign of aging, old man."

Numair glared at her playfully, trying to ignore the small ache in his heart. He _was_ old. Too old for her. The increase of the first digit of his age just solidified that.

"Oh yes," he said, playing along, "I'm so old that soon I'll be buried with the rest of the souls who were my age and _then_ what would you do?"

Daine's grin was mischievous. "I would live a lot easier life." Numair's glare increased in intensity, and Daine laughed.

Suddenly her smile turned soft, and her eyes became sincere and serious. She looked directly into his eyes and held his mesmerized gaze. "You know how grateful I am that you're here, don't you? How thankful I am every day for everything you've done for me? You're my teacher, mentor, and best friend, Numair, no matter what age you are." She rested her head against his shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I need you, Numair."

Numair's heart pounded. Carefully, tentatively, almost as if he was afraid she'd disappear, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and leaned his head against hers. "I need you too, my magelet. More than you know." Closing he eyes, he mouthed against her hair, _I love you_.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the brief silence and peace, before Daine sighed and got up. Numair immediately felt the loss of her warmth, and resisted the urge to tug her back down to him.

"I'd best leave. You still need to clean yourself up. I'll meet you in there," she said, making her way to the door.

"Must I change? I really am quite comfortable as I am right now," Numair sighed.

"Change now or change later, but you will have to sometime," she warned, "We're all going out to the Dancing Dove later today to celebrate your birthday. You might as well make yourself look presentable for your king." Then she grinned. "But I have to say, I'm surprised Master Salmalìn. Here I thought you would _never_ shake off your vanity."

"Ah but you forget that I most likely would have changed regardless of what you said," Numair replied lightly, "I have a reputation to protect, you know. I'm the great sorcerer of Tortall! I can't be caught looking like this—it would cause an uproar!" he shook his head in faux tragedy.

Daine laughed. "Ah, so you _are _Numair, not a wolf in sheep's clothing. Though I'd say you're still a duck trying to be a swan. Or I s'pose I should say 'stork'." She giggled.

Numair mock frowned at her. Ever since she had accidentally let slip her animal friends' nick name for him, she hadn't let him live it down. That was all fine, except then Alanna, George, and Onua found out, and he became the target of their laughter for the next week.

"You would _think_ that my apprentice would show some more respect to her teacher," Numair sulked, though not seriously.

Daine grinned. "Come on, oh great sorcerer of Tortall. Get cleaned up and meet me in the king's room in ten minutes, or I'll send Alanna up here after you."

The great sorcerer made a show of jumping off the bed and running to his washbasin. Daine laughed.

* * *

"What?_"_ the Lioness said, shocked. She, George, Numair, Daine, and some other officials and lords were gathered in King Jonathan's study, each face looking somber and grim. A thick parchment lay unfolded on the center table in front of Jonathan, who massaged his eyes tiredly. Next to him, Thayet wore a dark expression on her face, though her hand rubbed soothingly on her husband's shoulder.

"I said, it's a declaration of war, from a union of Immortals, Scanrans, and Copper Islanders." Jon took his hand from his face and ran it through his hair. "Ozorne's signature is the first one there. Here," he tossed the parchment to his champion, "Read it yourself. Out loud, please."

Alanna slowly picked up the papers and read,

"_To King Jonathan of Conté and Queen Thayet the Peerless, rulers of Tortall,_

_We, representatives of Scanra, the Copper Isles, and an alliance of Immortals, hereby declare absolute war on Tortall, its state, and its people until a statement of total surrender, from either party, is given. We will employ full use of any and all weapons in our arsenal to further our goal for Tortall's demise. We will not hesitate to inflict destruction on Tortall's lands and people. We shall accept no surrender from your realm unless it not only details a full admission of defeat, but also cedes all of Tortall's lands, wealth, and power to our person. We shall give you an opening of two weeks to surrender. If you do not take this opportunity we will not be held accountable for any casualties you may suffer in the coming battles._

It's signed by Ozorne, the current Scanran king, Scanra's Council of Ten, the Copper Isles' king and council, and some other generals," Alanna finished in a matter-of-fact voice.

"So, in essence," said Duke Gareth of Naxen, his voice tired and weary, "we have two weeks to prepare for this war?"

King Jonathan nodded. "They're no accepting any negotiations, they're not giving any conditions, they're just officially declaring war."

"I don't understand," said Daine, who the king wanted to include in this meeting, much to some of the conservatives' dismay, "Then why the two weeks? They must know we wouldn't dream of surrendering without at least putting up a fight."

"They need time to prepare as well," explained Numair, "They declared war on _us_, thus they are obligated to make the first move, which will no doubt be on Tortallan soil. They know about the Dominion Jewel, and Ozorne knows what you can do to a camped out army as well," Daine flushed, "They need to carefully strategize, and gather their resources, if they are to have the best chance they can."

"And the attack on the capital this last week," added Alanna, "That was a warning. Ozorne wants us to hesitate before refusing to surrender. That's why he just attacked, then took off after a week without a word or a warning."

"So we're just sitting ducks until they come at us first?" Daine said, frowning.

Sir Raoul of Goldenlake shook his head. "Of course not. We have our own preparations to do. Jon, have you notified _our_ allies?"

"I've written up messages for our allies in the Eastern Continent and Carthak, as well as the Yamani Isles," the king replied, then turned to look at the wild mage. "Daine, could you ask some of your bird friends to deliver them for me? It's safer than sending a courier, and the birds in our aviary stand out too much."

Daine nodded. She tilted her head, as if listening to someone next to her. Then she said, "Some eagles and falcons agreed to do it, your Majesty. They'll meet whoever has the papers on top of Balor's Needle."

Thayet shuddered.

Daine grinned, "It's the easiest place for them to land and take off with the extra weight, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Daine," said the king. "Thankfully, we won't be in this war alone."

"We might," said Numair gravely. "The only reason Ozorne called for those peace talks last year was because Carthak alone could not take on all the Eastern nations, especially Tortall, on its home soil. So he called us there to try and isolate us, and take away some of our domestic strength," Numair mused, referring to Ozorne's previous scheme to deprive Tortall of its Wildmage and black robe mage, among other things. "But now he has Immortals, who are able to travel quickly over great distances without much difficulty, at his disposal. He will no doubt set them against our allies on the Eastern Continent, whom he does not have as easy access to as he does us."

"That means we also need to reinforce our borders," pondered Raoul.

Numair nodded. "With Scanra to the north and the Copper Isles to the west, we will no doubt be pressed on the edges."

Baron George, standing in on this meeting for Sir Myles, thought for a moment. "I think we can rely most on the Yamani Isles this time. They've fought off Ozorne before."

Jon looked at his friend sharply. "Have your birdies told you anything?"

George considered his words carefully. "I've had no final word yet, but I think that soon, I may have something that will be useful."

The king nodded. "Let me know, then." George gave his own nod.

"In the mean time," said Raoul, "We'll start sending companies and knights to build forts on our northern borders and support our ports on the western shore."

"It might also be a good idea to pay close attention to our southern borders," Numair said, "Ozorne's influence in Carthak is still fresh, and Emperor Kaddar may be preoccupied with flushing out connections Ozorne no doubt still has." The Knight Commander nodded.

King Jonathan sighed. "Alright, for now the most we can do is prepare our forces. Raoul, I'll leave the King's own and the western borders to you. Alanna, would you oversee preparations at our northern borders?" Alanna nodded. "Lord Martin, Uncle, I need to meet with you two separately to discuss how the nobles may contribute to our forces. Master Harailt, would you debrief our mages at the Royal University?"

"Of course," said the dean of mages.

"Buri," the king continued, "For now, I would like you and the Riders to continue doing your regular activity. When the war comes, we'll no doubt need you then." Buri nodded.

"I myself will be traveling as needed," Jon announced.

At this, both Gareth the Younger and Lord Martin protested. "Jon, it's too dangerous—" said Gary while Lord Martin said, "Who then, Your Majesty, will protect our capital?"

Jon raised a hand the quiet them. "I know it will be dangerous, but Mithros strike me now if I plan on simply sitting back on my gilded throne watching my country fight and struggle. I played an active role in battles while I was a prince, and I do not plan on changing that just because I'm king. I have heirs now, and a fully capable queen," he smiled at his wife, "who may continue running the country should something happen to me. So there is no reason for me not to do everything I can for my country, which will require me traveling outside Corus."

Alanna clapped her friend's shoulder in approval. He managed a small smile toward her and continued, "As for protecting our capital, my wife is more than able to do that." Thayet nodded at her husband, and gripped his hand tightly. Lord Martin, ever the conservative, frowned at this, but said no more.

Finally, the king turned to Numair and Daine. "I know you two work best together. I would like you two, Master Tkaa, and Kitten to be our most mobile group. Your skills will most likely be needed in many places this coming season, if this is to be an Immortals war. But this is the best, I think, we can do."

"Of course, your Majesty," said Numair. "Do you have an assignment for us currently?"

"Oh no, ye don't. War or no, this is your thirtieth birthday, and I'll drag you to the Dove to get drunk if I have to," George warned.

Daine grinned. "He's just avoiding looking his age in the face."

"So nice to have loyal, _kind_, friends," Numair muttered grumpily, though his lips twitched.

At that, most of the people in the room laughed, the grim air receding just a little.

Jon, smiling slightly, said, "Yes, happy birthday, Numair. I _would_ like you and Daine to go to the City of the Gods, inform them, and do anything you can there. But that can wait until tomorrow. I wouldn't dare cross George here."

Numair mocked groaned. "You're his king, you should be able to rein him in."

"That's what you think, lad," said George, eyes twinkling, sending most of the room into another fit of chuckles.

* * *

"The next thing I hear is this loud explosion – like blasting powder that's exploded. I rush in to find that he'd set his clothes on _fire_," Daine said, laughing as she took a sip of her drink. She, George, Alanna, Onua, and other friends of Numair's were at the Dancing Dove, where everyone but Daine was drinking to their hearts content (Daine still hated the taste of alcohol, though Onua swore that would change soon). Most everyone was practically drunk already, so it didn't take much to send them into hysterics.

"I just wanted to dry them…" Numair slurred.

"Is that what you told the cook when you set his _oven_ on fire? How do you set an oven on fire anyway?" Numair frowned as another round of laughter passed through the party.

"_Daine_, you're supposed to be _nice_ to me…it's my birthday…" a drunk mage complained. He had been downing drinks like they were water all night, so while others were only half intoxicated, he was already there, though that didn't stop him from drinking even more.

George clapped Numair on his back, "You'd best give up lad, these women here will _never_ stop insulting us poor men, they take too much pleasure in it." The baron was barely inhibited, even though he had drank just as much as everyone else. However, Tortall _would_ be in trouble if its second-in-command spymaster was that easy to drink under the table.

The now thirty year-old man pouted, and everyone laughed at his expression. "Poor men?" Alanna quipped, raising her tankard, "As if they're the ones to be pitied now? That sounds about right."

"Here here!" cried Onua, Buri, and Daine, toasting each other.

George shook his head. He turned to Lindhall. "How'd we end up getting mixed up with such bad company?"

The old mage was also well on his way to drunkenness. His face was flushed and his pupils were dilated as he responded, "I don't know…Tortall is so different…" he hiccupped, causing Bone, on his shoulder, to lurch. "Arram…is so _old_ now…_thirty_…the little twelve year-old from the university is _thirty_ now…that must mean I'm _ancient_…" Lindhall looked so depressed that Daine had to reach over to pat his shoulder.

"There, there. You still are as energetic as a child, Master Reed. I can't say the same for Numair. You should have seen him this morning, complaining about getting dressed and whining for a lazy life. Now _he's_ acting ancient." Daine, fully sober, couldn't help but take this opportunity to tease her friend more than usual – especially since he was likely not to remember anything in the morning.

Lindhall brightened at this, while Numair instead downed another drink. George patted his back as he spluttered a bit, eyeing the mage sympathetically.

"Ok, well, I need to use the privy," Daine declared, leaving the table. Onua and Alanna followed her ("I swear, 'I need to use the privy' is some kind of secret code for women. Goddess knows for what," George whispered to a half delirious Lindhall).

"I think it's time for me to go," said Raoul, who at least, was somewhat sober, "I have to get going in the morning." He stood up, clapped his drunk friend on the back, said, "Happy birthday, Numair," and left. Buri followed suit soon after, saying she as well, had work to do. Now, the only people left at the table was George, Numair, and Lindhall, though the latter was practically passed out.

Numair kept downing drinks. Tankard after tankard, he drank and drank, at a rate that even alarmed George. After Numair's third tankard in five minutes, George placed a hand on Numair's saying "That's enough for now, lad. Slow down."

Numair brushed him off and reached for another tankard anyway. After emptying it, he stared at it thoughtfully, and said, "George, why am I doing this?"

"Why are you drinking your own weight in liquor? I have no idea, lad. I was hoping you could enlighten me."

Numair shook his head slowly. "No, I mean, why do I keep fighting and working? I mean, I love Jon…he's a great king and I'd gladly die for this country, but why do I keep exhausting myself over it, even when I don't have to?"

Now George looked at his friend seriously. Numair was slumped in his chair, looking at his cup with an almost…defeated expression, and George couldn't understand why. So he just listened as the mage continued his drunken ramblings.

"Every time I ask myself that…I never know. But something…_pushes_ me to keep working, keep fighting. And it's not my patriotism…it's something else. And usually, that something is somehow enough to keep me going.

"But…I'm so _tired_, George. So tired. So there are times when I start to question why I keep doing this to myself…when nothing will come out of it…nothing will…and I don't even know why I think that, because something _does_ come out of it, I know it does, and it helps the country and all…but it's not what I'm looking for, what I'm working for." Numair turned his glassy eyes to stare pleadingly at his friend.

"What am I working for, George? Can you tell me? I want…to know. Even though I know I'll never get it…and that makes me so sad…" He didn't give George a chance to answer, though. "But then…there are times when I'm so _happy_…so happy…because of _it_…that thing I'm working for but will never have…and that's enough to make me keep going…because that happiness, George, outweighs the sadness and so much more…so I keep working. But I want to know why."

A feminine laugh reaches Numair's ears, and his head snaps up. It was Daine, sharing some joke with Onua and Alanna as they stopped by the bar for more drinks. George followed Numair's gaze to his student as well.

"I can't…I can't lose her, George," Numair continued, "I can't lose her. I wouldn't be able to bear it if I lost her. She's…she's so good, George…so good…I have to be in her life. I don't care how…I need her…But she'll leave me soon. I know it. Who would want to stay with an old, gawky bookworm? I do such stupid, idiotic things when it comes to her. I keep putting her in danger. I'm useless. She deserves so much more than me…I know that too. But I can't help it. I need her, George, I need her…"

After that, Numair's words became unintelligible, and after a few more mumbled sentences, he collapsed on the table, unconscious.

George looked at him empathetically, now knowing exactly how the conflicted black robe mage felt. He remembered feeling like that himself once.

"Oh, no, he's out already?" Daine said, having finally returned to the table.

"Yup. Not surprising, really, considerin' all the drinking he's been doing," George said lightly.

Daine eyed the four new empty tankards. "He drank _all_ that just while I was gone?" she asked, incredulous.

"That's right. Tried to stop him after drink number three, but he managed to get one more drink in," George told her. Excluding Numair's little rant after that drink, George continued, "After that, he collapsed. Out like a light, he is."

Daine shook her head reprovingly. "I don't know what's going on with him, these days. He's been acting out of sorts, lately."

George stood up and patted Daine on the shoulder. "Treat him gently, lass. He worries a lot 'bout you."

Daine smiled sweetly at the large man sleeping on the table. "I know that." She stroked Numair's coal-black hair once. "I worry about him, too. Mostly about the trouble he'll get into without me."

"Then don't let him be without ya," George said simply but slyly.

"I don't plan to," Daine answered.

George smiled, and patted the unconscious Numair on the shoulder. _You'll be just fine, lad. Everything will work out, I know it._ "I'd best grab my wife and get going," he said to Daine.

"Alanna's mostly sober, I think, so would you two mind also escorting Master Lindhall here back to the palace? I don't think Onua and I can manage both of them," she aksed.

"Of course, lass. I think we can manage old lanky here," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"That's fair mean," Daine scolded, hands on hips, though there was a matching twinkle in her own eyes.

"When you get to be as old as I am, lass, you _have_ to tease the even older folk to make you feel like you're any sort of young," George explained. He gave a large grin to Daine, and patted Numair one more time on his limp back.

"Happy birthday, Numair."

* * *

"You've only yourself to blame, you know. What _possessed_ you to drink so much when you knew we had an assignment the next morning?" Daine asked Numair, incredulously.

Numair just moaned in response, squeezing his eyes shut against the sunlight that streamed through the stables. His head felt like someone had poured blasting powder into his skull and lit it. His temples throbbed, and his eyes balked from the glare of the sun. He was sorely tempted to just put a dark bag over his head and be done with it.

As he leaned carefully on Spots, Daine placed their packs on the horses. Once she was done, she eyed her friend reproachfully. It had been a job and a half to just get him up. She had had to recruit George and Raoul to get him to dress while she packed for him. Now, in the stables, just about to leave for the City of Gods, with Tkaa and Kitten outside waiting, the mage looked like he had been tortured for days. If he looked unhealthy last morning, he looked dead this morning.

"Perhaps…we should start with a cart? You could lie in it until you've recovered. Once you have, we can just leave it somewhere in the forest, and I'll ask one of my friends to lead someone here to bring it back," Daine suggested.

Numair managed to look up at her hopefully. "A covered one?"

Daine shook her head, "No, I don't want to put too much weight on Spots. You can have a horse blanket or something. We'll take a lot breaks, if you want."

Numair gave her a crooked smile. "Magelet, you always anticipate my needs perfectly. Thank you."

"You've helped me in far worse conditions before, Numair. It's the least I can do," she replied.

Numair shook his head (slowly). "Not just for this, Daine. For everything. For putting up with my absentmindedness and my penchant for long boring lectures. For staying with me through dangerous times. For letting me depend on you. For being my friend."

Daine smiled and kissed his cheek. "It's no trouble, Numair. You do the same for me every day." As she stepped back, though, her smile turned mischievous. "'Sides, if I don't do it, who will?"

Numair gave a small chuckle.

She reached up and gently patted his cheek. "I'll go take Spots and get that cart hitched."

Numair watched as she walked away, fighting the urge to pull her back into his arms (not that he was strong enough to anyway). He world really did revolve around her, now. Because of her, he'd experienced devastating sadness and despair, and overwhelming happiness and joy. Because of her, he knew the true extent of fear, and the true meaning of courage. Because of her, he was able to get through every battle, every fight, every obstacle.

For her. It was all for her. He fought for her. He worked for her. He lived for her.

And for her, he would keep fighting, keep working, just to protect her.

Her. His love. _Daine_.

* * *

**A/N: So what did you think? This is the first time I've written anything after Numair realizes he loves Daine, and so I'm kind of nervous on what you guys think of it. **

**I also have never written a declaration of war before. Nor have I read one. I hope I didn't sound too ridiculous. The reason I put that scene in at all was because I wanted to leave this open so that I might expand and add more chapters if I ever get the whim to. I really liked writing in this time period (in the books that it) and I don't think I'm ready to leave it :)**

**Anyway, please let me know your thoughts in a review!**


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